


Honor (will bury yours)

by ModernArt2012



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Mafia AU, Minor warnng for angst, Where Konan is a Yakuza and deals with things like a BAMF she is, also, godfather references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 10:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17181089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012/pseuds/ModernArt2012
Summary: “‘I understand. You found paradise in America. You had a good trade, you made a good living. The police protected you and there were courts of law. So you didn't need a friend like me. Now you come and say "Don Corleone, give me justice." But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me "Godfather." You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to do murder - for money.’”“I never did understand why Yahiko liked this movie,” she murmurs into Nagato’s ear, even as Nagato mouths along with Bonasera’sI ask you for justice.





	Honor (will bury yours)

**Author's Note:**

> For Clem, as a part of the Akatsuki Gift exchange 2018. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Beta'd by the splendiferous [ dexterously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexterously/pseuds/dexterously) who screamed at me about this wip and helped me work through the rough bits.
> 
> And also told me that [ Man of War by Radiohead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXP1KdZX4io) fits this song perfectly. Having just now listened to it, I am Inclined to agree.

“ _ ‘I understand. You found paradise in America. You had a good trade, you made a good living. The police protected you and there were courts of law. So you didn't need a friend like me. Now you come and say "Don Corleone, give me justice." But you don't ask with respect. You don't offer friendship. You don't even think to call me "Godfather." You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married and you ask me to do murder - for money. _ ’”

 

“I never did understand why Yahiko liked this movie,” she murmurs into Nagato’s ear, even as Nagato mouths along with Bonasera’s  _ I ask you for justice. _ The scene flickers on the shitty old projector, a relic from their stunted childhood and bittersweet, and there’s an (almost) imperceptible twitch of the corner of Nagato’s mouth that tells her enough. The irony, of course. Her own lips curve upwards of their own accord, even as Nagato curls his arm closer around her hip. 

 

It’s a tell, rather than possessive, something that betrays that Nagato, for all his power and prestige and persona, is still mortal. Still made of the same stuff as her, and Kazuku and Hidan and Deidara and Kisame and Itachi and the rest. A thing that makes her ache something fierce in the parts of her that she long since sloughed off to the growing pains of adulthood, packed away neat and tight and compartmentalized until the end of time. This line of work isn’t for the weak. Sentiment is another form of bullseye.

 

Konan doesn’t pay attention too hard to the movie - a million lifetimes over and she’ll never forget a scene - letting her head rest on Nagato’s shoulder, taking the reprieve for a moment to think. There’s countless things left to do, in process or pending. Checking in on the orphanage, coordinating the latest Ninkyō Dantai meeting - they might need to take care of the current head of the Sabaku-gumi; the other major players had already caved though Konoha-kai has too big a share to ignore for much longer - opening the new clinic and recovery center, planning the charity gala, not to mention taking care of the scouts being reported sniffing around on the edge of their territory. And visiting the hospital; she couldn’t forget that. 

 

There’s a subtle buzzing at her hip, vibrating up her spine and through Nagato’s arm. She takes out her phone, doesn’t bother to check the caller ID. “Hello.” The words from the other end both are and aren’t unexpected. Konan weighs the news, before giving in to what she knows comes next and telling Itachi, “I’ll be there shortly.” Nagato glances at her and she nods once in response. 

 

Nagato’s violet gaze is heavy, assessing, admiring and tracking as she pulls on actual clothes and not the silky navy robe she’s been lounging in all afternoon. First the sarashi, then the leggings and the holsters for her knives. Finally her modified choran - open back and high collared, too sexy and feminine to register as a warning and threat to most of the underworld, men who think with the head between their legs and not the one attached to their necks to recognize that she doesn’t wear armor and it’s a statement of skill, not hubris. Too much muscle and not enough brains by half, as Nagato put it once, after she had cut up a room full of rival oyabun to pieces. He hands her her sword, and the long tails cover  _ Origami’s  _ place on her hip. A kiss for speed, for luck though neither will voice that thought, for success and for coming home intact, ritual and comfort and a tiny tiny allowance in this bloodstained world of their making, and she’s striding down the hall with her shateigashira in her wake.

 

* * *

 

 

She will never understand what makes men brave enough to think they can cross the kumicho and get away with it. The easy answer is probably money, or women, but Kabuto had always seemed so ... composed, unwaveringly dedicated,  _ loyal _ . Unlikely to be distracted by the usual suspects, to betray anyone who treated him like a human worthy of respect. And he had been passing on so much information, information he shouldn't have had, and without arousing suspicion. Konan hasn’t been wrong in judging a person’s character since Danzo. Which begs the question  _ what _ or  _ who  _ Kabuto was loyal to. She’ll have to set someone on investigating, as soon as possible. 

Her cleaning cloth is grimy, stained with streaks of blood, much like  _ Origami _ . Death by a thousand cuts, and Kabuto still didn’t crack. He thrived, somehow, until the last cut. Konan can respect that, if it didn’t mean that Kabuto was a dirty snitching rat with something more to fear than her. And rats usually mean the feds sniffing around. Another round of  _ itachigokko,  _ of the endless war between the police and yakuza, neither side winning or losing. It might be time to remind their associates in the government what exactly the might of the Akatsuki can do. There’s a good reason the Yamaguchi-gumi fear them, and it’s not due to a numbers differential. 

Though. Something like knowing skitters down her spine. She quirks an eyebrow and her lieutenant nods once briskly. They might get answers sooner than expected, if her suspicions are right. 

She’s not sure if she wants to be right.

A hand drops to her shoulder, and Konan knows the weight of it intimately, relaxes fractionally. “Itachi was able to determine that Kabuto had been working for Orochimaru.” The words are stone, and fall with the silent finality of bullet casings. A rat for a snake, then. Bait, if Orochimaru had been the kind of person who understood loyalty to others. Konan wouldn’t count on it, not with the broken feral-ness of the human in question. A wild thing that had been tamed and gentled and then broken like ill-tempered steel in the hand of a careless wielder.

More akin to Yahiko, then, than Nagato, but the similarities were still there. Konan frowned, cloth stilling. Better not think too deeply - sometimes patterns appeared that were only the product of a mind searching for omens. More useful to chase goals than ghosts. Deidara sticks their head in, hair in disarray, “Nagato, were poisonings banned at galas? I know explosions were, un, but Danna has a person on his list that’s coming.” His gaze is clear and expectant, trained not on Nagato so much as on Konan. At least someone in their inner circle recognizes that Nagato has zero social graces. Just for that Konan decides this year’s gala needs fireworks; Deidara had been with Akatsuki so long now, longer than under their old gang. 

It might be worth sending A an invite for that reason alone. 

“No killing anyone until  _ after _ they've left our grounds.” Deidara pouts, but accepts Konan's words. She's banking on Sasori to read between the lines on her judgement; no poisons that will  _ kill _ anyone while in attendance at the Akatsuki gala and auction. Which leaves a variety of slow acting poisons that will throw suspicion off their group and onto another. Idly, she wonders if they can finally break the Konoha-kai. Depending on the target they just might.

Nagato waits until the door finishes clicking closed and for Deidara's odd pitter-skip footsteps to fade out of hearing. “When will you head out. We have that meeting this afternoon.”

There's faint judgement there. Sentiment kills, and this is something too close to a schedule. But Konan refuses to dwell on the risks; she will go. “Are you joining.” She doesn't phrase it as a question, because it isn't. 

He still feels guilty. That's okay, she feels just as guilty still too.

 

* * *

 

 

“I hope you're well. We’re doing okay. Itachi has started a new treatment for his lungs, and it seems promising, though he has to go to the doctor frequently. He’s breathing better, and seems more sane now that the infection isn’t ravaging his immune system to death. Deidara is the same as they always are. They’ll be happy to get to do a fireworks display at the gala. Nagato... he sends his regards. You know how he is.” A statement that is layered in purposeful nuance - there is no way to ever have predicted this Nagato, this matured and wizened Nagato with violet eyes of blue iron and blood and drowning in fiery ideals. 

“We're in the final stages of opening the clinic and recovery center. Funny how the rich come crawling out to help with these things, instead of addressing the actual root cause of the problem. They really can't live without poor to leech off of, and the other groups don't care who gets hurt in their bloody squabbles.” 

She sits at home in the quiet, steady. Then, “The police have been sniffing around - they found Kabuto’s body, or at least enough that they suspect it was a rival group and we’re plotting vengeance. Another round of  _ itachigokko,  _ only nothing makes sense. Kabuto worked for Orochimaru, but he knew things that neither Nagato or I knew. Had information that makes it seem like Orochimaru killed his kumicho while he was still with Konoha; had information that makes it seem like Kabuto was cooperating with the police.”

A sip of water, to quench the dryness of her throat, the disquiet of nausea in her stomach. “Sometimes I wonder if your mother really was a prophetess. I can’t recall her ever being wrong. You always said so, and always tried to make us believe you had the power of prophecy too.”

A huff of laughter. “Then again, maybe you did. You did say the only way to peace was by ruling the world, while Nagato and I naively believed we could bring peace to Ame and stop there, be happy.”  

Dust swirls in the shaft of sunlight. “I wonder what you’d think of our plans. You were always the brave one, the one we looked to to lead, finding new solutions to old problems.” 

Quiet, a beat off rhythm, then soft. “I wonder what you would say.” 

Her phone vibrates once. Konan has been expecting this, but had hoped it wouldn’t come to it. She stands, and with a guilty yet certain press of her hand, she leaves without a word. Yahiko knows she'll be back.

* * *

 

 

Breathe in, exhale honey slow. She lines up her shot, waits. From his perch four blocks over, Itachi counts down under his breath and into the speaker on his headphone. One day, Konan will break the little Uchiha out of the habit but today is not that day. The first car comes through three streets north, but she lets it pass by her next unmolested even as she breathes,”mark,” down her end of the line. A decoy Itachi will shoot, destroy with the new incendiary rounds Deidara has made, cause the smugglers to activate panic protocols when they find their scout doesn’t check in.

A minute later, the faint echo of an explosion echoes, and three minutes after that the first of three black SUVs take a sharp turn into her line of sight. By now, Itachi has left his old position and gotten himself reoriented two blocks down. Konan fires twice through the front of the second SUV, mangling the engine and ejecting the driver and passenger through the windshield. Fools, since there’s a good reason seat belts were invented, as they just handily demonstrated in the middle of the central business district. (They are doubly fools since they ignored the warning to stop. Yagura and his group will pay dearly for this.) Idly, she wonders if they know how hard it is to get blood stains out of concrete. There’s still a stain in the concrete of Nagato’s safe house bathroom floor, from the last assassination attempt. Konan doubts it will ever come out, just as the sense of sewing neat stitches through flesh parted nearly to the bone has sunk into the molecules of her hands. 

The third car fishtails even as Konan shoots out the windshield with two more precise pulls of her trigger. There’s the low call of police sirens approaching, so she cleans up her nest and takes the fire escape to the extraction point four floors down. She’ll be smuggled out into the sewers, like back when the Akatsuki first started in Ame. It brings back memories, nostalgia of her first hit with Nagato as her spotter. He was a shitty spotter, for all that he has 20/5 vision. Still is for all that Konan knows - she doesn’t exactly spend time  _ sniping _ with Nagato these days. (Unless that’s what the young things call it; Konan hopes not.)

All she needs to do now is cross the mouth of the alley to get to where Kisame is waiting under the manhole cover. She can’t help pausing though, hidden in the shadows to watch the scene. Already, concerned good samaritans are disentangling survivors from the wreckage - horrified shouts mixed with crying babbles of thanksgiving and prayers answered as the wretched figures of scantily clad women are extracted still chained together like prisoners. An officer has surely found her bullets, will notice the angel wings, and one more story will get added to her legend. God’s Angel striking again to save the poor people of Ame from the abuses of the rich and powerful. If only they knew how mortal their God and his Angel were. 

One of the officers on the Akatsuki payroll catches her eye and nods once. She nods back once, as if she meant to be caught. No one will be able to trace this to Akatsuki - good. All the better to deal with Yagura; he isn’t the best at cause and effect. 

If her double holds up - and her shategashira know how to double as her, a brilliant idea she will never forgive Yahiko or Nagato from stealing from Star Wars, however awe inspiring yet idiotic Padme Amidala is otherwise -,  then the clinic opening will be taken care of as well as the orphanage appointment, and all subsequent social interactions logged for her to review and memorize. Hopefully something good, to assure them that they have the edge they need to come out on top tomorrow. Just in case.

Konan slips into the boat, steady even though poor Itachi looks green. He's going to need to get a handle on himself, one day someone will use this sort of opening as an opportunity to take him out. “Kisame, when you’re able to, go check in with Kakazu and Sasori on the rats sniffing around.” He nods once in acknowledgement, a yakuza dog to the core, and Konan is certain that there will be tangible results in the end. She just hopes it's not what her intuition whispers from her bones. It still doesn’t stop her from looking Itachi in the eye and asking, “If you’re feeling up to it, make sure the shipment gets to the docks on time.”

Now to deal with the poisonous politics of seating arrangements and opening the gala tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

The meeting is held late; Sasori having just coming in with the news. “The head of the Sabaku-gumi is dead. Orochimaru, they think,” Guanyin, foremost of her shategashira, whispers to her as she enters the room. Succinct and to the point, because after all these years they know each other well.

Orochimaru is certainly lashing out in ways and shapes that speak to a man that knows the rest of the groups know of his machinations and are coming for him. Either he’s finally gone completely mad, or there’s an endgame in play. Right now, it sounds like Kakazu and Hidan are arguing to kill Orochimaru to Nagato. 

Konan has half a mind to join and convince Nagato that it’s the best thing, but Konoha-kai have claimed their blood right to Orochimaru, something no other group has crossed with good reason. The blood feud that would erupt would wipe any group off the map, even their Akatsuki. Konoha has both the numbers and their legendary Will of Fire - their fighters can be on the edge of death and keep going, and they never leave their own to fight alone. It'd be idiocy to tempt the ire of Konoha.

And there’s the fact that the new head of the Sabaku-gumi will be a teenager. Rasa had made it clear his last-born would rule after him, though Konan thought it would be the eldest for her sheer steel and nerve. Only, Rasa’s last born is more than ruthless enough, more than bloodthirsty enough,  _ more than similar to Nagato _ , and that is certainly what he’ll need to rule the fractious families under the Sabaku-gumi mantle. Ah well, the sister has probably been groomed as his saiko-komon. Konan looks forward to dealing with another woman in such a high position; they’re certainly a rarity in the underworld. 

Only, now the Sabaku-gumi have a blood right to Orochimaru too, and any good consigliere would leverage this to end the bad relationship between the Sabaku-gumi and Konoha-kai. Konan levels a look at Nagato and the twitch of his eyebrow tells her her message is received. Tsunade-hime knows her ex-friend too well to pass up the opportunity to end him and gain an ally, to end the infighting that would have heralded her ascension to Head of the Konoha-kai. The enemy of your enemy is your friend and all, so there is much for both sides to gain by using this to become allies. Making their enemies stronger against their coming goals. 

She accepts the coffee Guanyin hands her, and drinks deeply in time with the rattling cough Itachi tries to muffle. Something to busy her as the argument rages on, all Hidan’s vulgar obscenity laced speech and Kakazu’s pointed and cutting additions against the wall of Nagato’s silence. It does her authority no good to take anyone’s side but Nagato’s publically, even now after all these years too many think she’s only Nagato’s prettier half and not a (shadow) leader of their group in her own right. Oh, the inner circle knows she is saiko-komon, but no one needs to know the extent. 

She catches Nagato’s eyes and in those violet dark depths is a frustration that grows by the minute. It would be easier to simply kill Hidan now, before his bloodthirst causes more problems; but he’s part of Nagato’s inner circle, she silently argues back and that affords him some leniency, and Nagato gives. 

Finally Hidan catches onto Nagato’s silent, deadly patience, on the fact he’s run his mouth much much longer than intelligent. In the fight against a speeding bullet and an implacable mountain, there is no contest, after all. And Nagato only has so much patience. It’s pindrop quiet, and Deidara seems to be two seconds from throwing a grenade to break the stalemate. 

“Hidan, do you know what would happen if we killed Orochimaru?” Nagato’s voice hasn’t changed, nor his face, but Konan can tell he’s laser focused and ready to go in for the kill. Hidan doesn’t answer; a smart fanatic. “The Akatsuki are strong, stronger than we have ever been. We stand for the good and the peace of the many, we only shed the blood of those who will not, cannot, build a lasting peace for all. And our plans are near fruition. 

Killing Orochimaru will bring both the Sabaku-gumi and the Konoha-kai down around us. While we are stronger, they are many. Do you think we would win? Do you think the Sabaku-gumi or the Konoha-kai care if they kill innocents? Pyrrhic victory is no victory at all. 

So we will let our enemies exact vengeance for us. We have better use for our energy, and they will certain face great losses in trying to assassinate a Legend of the Underworld. Let them weaken themselves for us.” 

There’s a painful truth there, a thing Konan once heard Sensei say to his fellows, to what she dimly remembers of a Tsunade-hime covered in blood and an Orochimaru who had grim lines around his eyes and mouth but had smiled at Sensei and with the same breath told him to kill her and Nagato and Yahiko. Of letting the factions that tore apart Ame fight and fight and rain down monsoons of blood so that they could just go through and clean up the job at the end. Of Nagato wiping out hundreds of people even marginally associated with Hanzo. She hated it then and hated it now, but time and maturity gave her the perspective, knowledge, that the bitter truth is that the way the world turned has never changed. Might equals right and sentiment kills. 

It’s late, and there’s nothing more to discuss. No one will challenge Nagato further in this mood, and though there is still more to discuss tomorrow has come already. Konan still has work to do. She gets up and leaves.

* * *

 

She’s well settled into bed when the far side dips with the weight of a second body. She doesn’t turn over, carefully makes sure that her breathing is still slow and even. The caterer and her crew will be coming in a few hours, and then the florist shortly after. The scouts hadn’t shown face yesterday, and that is a concern that Konan doesn’t have time to worry about, not with the weight of blood falling like rain on her head. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown, and the heads of those who close their eyes to the acts in front of them. Perhaps she’s less God’s Angel and more the Devil’s Right Hand Woman, Lilith. 

She feels the vague brush of lips against her head, the careful way Nagato settles back half on her pillow, half-on his and close enough to radiate the heat she’d normally luxuriate in. His breathing doesn't change, and she waits. It's always a waiting game, just a matter of who breaks first. Konan is a sniper; even Nagato's patience will be tested by her. 

She keep a her breathing even and controlled as she turns over to look at Nagato. He looks tired, human, and not the steel-spined and cool leader who leads with a fair but firm fist. Konan is struck by how he's aged, from the idealistic young boy who wanted most to protect the small and weak to this calculating, ruthless avenger. It might have been easier had she not noticed, but. 

“You don't agree.” A rhetorical question, Konan accepts with a slide of her shoulders. 

“Isn't this what we swore we'd stop?” The words choke her, taste like dust and ash and blood and petrichor.

“It's not innocent civilians; yakuza fighting yakuza is not the same as yakuza running down everyday people going about their lives on the off chance they’re helping the opposite side.”

A justification that is paperthin - there is always collateral damage to these fights. It's just a matter of scope, of peripherals. Nagato's words twist that up inside her like the spring to a trigger, but. But. 

Nagato is probably right. Scope is a matter of perspective, and if you look far enough out you’ll inevitably find what it is you dread most. Konan closes her eyes.

She knows Nagato knows he’s won. “The ends will justify the means,” he whispers apologetic into her hair as they curl around each other. She wonders if he’s reassuring himself or her.

* * *

 

Konan is staring down the hairdresser - she will be damned if she changes her hair from her high bun, no matter if a chignon is more appropriate for the setting - even as the first cars are pulling up the drive. A chignon has no room for a knife, but that's not something you can tell a hairdresser. So tense standoff it is, until Nagato opens the door.

Thankfully the hairdresser takes this as her cue to leave, but they wait until the door has closed behind her to speak. Konan rises from her vanity, shaking off her robe to reveal the high neck to her dress. It sparkles with the light of diamonds encrusted into a rainbow shackle, cold like her back now that her robe doesn't hide the skin revealed there. She hates this dress, the way it's A line design only allows her to hide paper-thin knives against her thighs and ribs and not her full armory. It might be more protective to be naked in this nest of pit vipers. But Deidara had insisted, and Nagato had stared in a way that culminated in ways Konan didn't regret, so this dress with its lack of utility and ostentatious (for her) sparkle it was. 

At least the diamonds matched her rings. 

They're the first ones in the lobby, because of course there needs to be a reception line, Kakazu had frowned significantly at her until it was on the list of events. Decorum, they are a proper and honorable yakuza outfit, or something. Which requires her wearing skyhigh Manolo Blahniks and having to mince instead of walk. 

The Konoha-kai sweep in as a unit, and Konan hates them on sight. Tsunade-hime comes in sensible shoes and her grandfather’s robes, tied neatly with an obi that proclaims the symbol of her group in brilliant orange on forest green, as demure as a blushing virgin as possible but still a statement. Konan is sure everyone else notices, especially the Cloud group with A. Konoha has its pride, and being the biggest and oldest certainly lends itself to unnecessary boasting. Still Konan smiles blandly at the pleasantries Tsunade-hime seems to genuinely mean. The landscape is shifting, and old powers are not to be trifled with. They speak lightly of the florist, of the charities that are here to be supported, of their mutual shared interest in getting government funding for community care clinics in the most underprivileged neighborhoods.  

Itachi slips by a shadow in the dark, the only sound his wet cough that carries over the edge of the balcony above them. Konan closes her eyes, resigned, only to open them when a strong calloused hand takes hers. Tsunade seems to weigh Konan a moment, before smiling something initially genial but sinister, “Oh, don’t worry, we will respect the neutrality of tonight’s events. Itachi has nothing to fear of anyone from Konoha tonight.” A pause, before Konan can stiffly thank the kumicho, then, “Would you like me to look him over?” 

Konan relaxes fractionally. Thank the Gods for proper and honorable establish yakuza outfits - Tsunade wouldn’t offer if she didn’t mean it, if she meant Itachi harm; her thoughts on violations of the Hippocratic Oath were well known and generally MMA fighter bloody. She shakes her head, “He’s in a clinical trial now. Experimental treatment.” There’s nothing that Tsunade, even with all her miraculous medical skills, can do in this case. 

A second squeeze, and then Tsunade is off, stately in a way Queens ought to be. Nagato leans over to whisper, “A whole conversation with another Yakuza woman and it still didn’t Bechdel Test Pass in the end.” 

Konan steps on his foot in retaliation. Maybe stilettos have some use as shoes afterall.

 

* * *

 

The gala is hitting its stride, and Konan has silently tracked the other kumicho slip out into the backroom. The Ninkyō Dantai is a honorable tradition, but still necessitates backrooms and covert operations, especially in this era of government crackdown. When the last of them have been led away, she slips into the service corridor herself. A moment, to check her knives, before she enters the antechamber where the rest of the saiko-komon wait. They fall silent as she enters the room, clearly mistrustful of each other but her most.

Still, Konan is given respectful nods and greetings, murmurs of how the gala is turning out lovely. It takes but a moment, then C is smiling at her and closer than should be polite in jumpy company. No one likes being apart from their kumicho, but even saiko-komon aren’t allowed into the room for the meeting of group heads. “Konan, would you mind if I bother you a moment about business?”

A signal to lower voices, but also for the rest to pointedly not pay attention. The affairs between groups are tense, and necessarily so. She inclines her head back towards the soundproofed door - where it’ll be clearest if someone tries to eavesdrop from within the antechamber, but would be unable to hear from the other side of the door. C doesn’t waste his time, serious and to the point, “The shipment you sent yesterday never arrived.” 

The shipment was sent - Konan had gotten Sasori’s report directly. Her face must betray something, because C frowns significantly too. Then he’s turning, brow furrowed. “Kurotsuchi, you were saying something about strange reports from Ame?” 

Kurotsuchi’s pretty bow mouth curls into a moue of displeasure, “Grandfather said something about too many conflicting stories. Our runners reporting one thing, but the official reports something else, and information spilling like there’s a leak.” The twist of the corners of her mouth tell Konan that that leak meant busts.

Temari - or who Konan assumes is Temari, for her resemblance to her brother and her sea glass green eyes - nods too, “A rat, perhaps? We’ve been hearing things out in Suna. And a lot of raids.” Suna is the farthest of all the territories, for raids to be coordinated to hit the other major groups -  

“ _ Itachigokko. _ ” The Nara smoking in the corner muses, even as the pit of Konan’s stomach drops through the floor.  _ Itachigokko,  _ only with a real weasel. Konan whirls for the door, ignoring the other’s shouts of surprise. 

She’s nearly not in time, as the back wall bursts open to reveal federal agents, shouting even as Onoki and A pull out guns and fire back. The back wall hadn’t been closely watched by the guards, because it opened onto a garden that dropped off into a cliff, but no one but the highest officers would have known about that vulnerability. 

It doesn’t matter at present, not when she’s flinging knives to get to Nagato in time, wishing for her Beretta or even  _ Origami _ . Tsunade is brawling, and in another lifetime Konan would be proposing marriage at the sight of Tsunade throwing fists and taking out agents like some kind of legendary ninja. 

She gets to Nagato, and grabs his collar to haul him out of the path of a gun, even as she stabs an agent through the arm and loots the agent’s pistol.  She feels the shock and sting of a bullet tearing into her left arm, but it’s no great loss, it’s her left and that won’t hinder her greatly. The house is compromised, and Konan heads for the only safe place she knows. It means tearing against the tide of oyabun and kobun racing to the the fight, but they know their role as foot soldiers in helping the kumicho and saiko-komon escape. 

Kisame had thought her idiotic when she had insisted on having sewer tunnel access when they were renovating, but vindication only ever arrives for those who survive. And Konan didn’t survive this long to die before she gets to tell Kisame  _ I told you so _ . It’s a moment to loosen the requisite wood panel, to shove Nagato in and close the door behind them as the shouts of the feds echo down the hall with the clink of bullets as counterpoint. 

Her mind is racing, even as they hurry down down down to where the dock is. She knows that Nagato knows what Konan knows, feels it in the angry tremble of his hand on her shoulder as she navigates the staircase for them both. Because Nagato hadn’t calculated for betrayal, and neither had Konan, but Yahiko would’ve figured it out and Nagato has never, will never, stop comparing himself to the memory of their friend. 

The dock is less a dock and more a raft with an outrigger motor and a few supplies. Konan pushes Nagato on before he can complain. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go - the feds will try to implicate the kumicho and you can’t be seen here at all. We all know to get out and how to contact each other in case of this sort of thing. You go on ahead and get safe - tier 4 safety. I have things to take care of.” A quick kiss, for luck, for reassurance, for the things Konan can’t bring herself to say.

Nagato frowns, but lets her push the raft off, “Come back safe.” A significant glance to her left, and Konan accepts the reprimand for what it is. She still waits until Nagato is successfully out of sight before pulling out the supplies and dressing the wound. At long last she’s got a good reason to rip up her monstrosity of a dress, even if it’s just for bandages. Climbing into her assault uniform feels like coming home, even as her muscles tense with stored anger. The weapons stored here are unfamiliar, but standard enough that Konan knows she can use them.

By now the feds will have determined that the major players have gotten away, and will be looking for them. And she knows that her prey knows how she would think in an emergency, even if her thinking is crystal clear. There’s nothing to do but spring the trap.

* * *

 

 

“Hello there.” Ah, so he is aware that Konan had arrived. She steps out of the branch of the tunnel and into the sewer cistern, meeting bright black eyes head on. For once, he didn’t look like he is on death’s door. 

“Hello again, Itachi.” She keeps her hands clearly visible, for all the good it does her. “Your parents really did give you quite the fitting name, didn’t they.”

Itachi shrugs, tired. “Not on purpose, I was named after an ancestor.” He pauses to watch Konan stop, close but not too close, far but not too far. “I am here to arrest you.”

Konan inclines her head, weighing Itachi and the worn badge on his hip. So he is a police officer. The irony. “And you know I am here to take care of you.” A similar inclination of the head from Itachi, and Konan chides her past self for foolishly caring for this upstart. Sentiment kills, and those who betray will betray again. Greater fool her “Before all that, can I ask why?”

Another shrug, not indolent but not arrogant either. “This world we live in, it’s a world of pain and suffering and the yakuza only add more to it. Death and death and suffering on suffering. I never liked our world, and set out to stop it.” The hidden accusation is there, floating in Itachi’s eyes - that Nagato and Konan and Yahiko had set out with the same goal, proclaimed that the purpose of Akatsuki is peace, had failed and become what they most despised. 

“It was going fine until we noticed the scouts,” she surmises instead. “You knew Kabuto was a double agent for Orochimaru, and used Kabuto to take out the head of the Sabaku-gumi even as you ‘investigated’ him in order to frame him for the leak.” It’s a clever plan, Konan concedes. 

It doesn’t mean Itachi is clever enough though. Without warning she flings a handful of knives, two landing and one more flying past as Itachi moves fractionally enough it sails past harmlessly. Konan is already dodging the return volley of knives, ducking behind a pillar in the cistern. Itachi is predictable like this - bringing knives to a hit - because for all that he hates their world, he understands it in his bones. These sorts of things are done with knives, to make sure that no one got too complacent with dealing death. Itachi is born to it all, the  Ninkyō Dantai, the code. The honor and propriety, the decorum and the Done Thing. 

Konan isn’t any of those things. She’s just a gutter rat who worked her way up and damned if she will abide by the old rules any longer. She pulls her Beretta and a flashbang, throwing out the latter while she brings the first to bear. It’s time to be done with this business, and Konan is ready.

  
  


* * *

Whispered, low and barely heard, “ _ Luca Brasi is sleeping with the fishes. _ "

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> So there are some terms used here that may be confusing. For any yakuza terms, the following site(s) will help: http://imperialjustice.tumblr.com/ranks
> 
> There's also the slight clarification of the following:  
>  _itachi (鼬・いたち)_ : a weasel, but in the yakuza world also slang for a very good police detective. いたちごっこ(itachgokko) “to act like a weasel” refers to a game that Japanese children play in which it is impossible for either side to win. The police versus the yakuza war which has been going on since 1965 is often referred to as itachigokko.
> 
> So yes, this whole story revolves around the fact Itachi is a police detective pretending to be a yakuza. :3c
> 
> Finally, the ending is open to interpretation who's speaking. After all, if you're familiar with the Godfather Triology, you'd recognize that either Itachi or Konan could be Luca. Which it is, I guess we'll never know :3c
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I had a lot of fun writing this piece!


End file.
